A Deadly Split
by Nonny A
Summary: When a waiter at BBQ Bob's is murdered, can Steve and the gang find the murderer before someone else is killed? COMPLETE
1. Part I

DISCLAIMER: "Diagnosis Murder" and the characters in it are owned by CBS and Viacom and are merely being borrowed here for recreational, non-profit purposes.

RATING: G

SUMMARY: When a waiter at BBQ Bob's is murdered, can Steve and the gang find the murderer before someone else is killed? 

Note: I don't usually post in segments, so please bear with me as I experiment with this!

****

A DEADLY SPLIT

Chapter 1 

Dr. Mark Sloan was reviewing patient charts at a nurse's station in the ER at Community General Hospital, when he heard himself hailed. Turning, he saw his son, Det. Lt. Steve Sloan approaching.

"Hi, Steve! What brings you around so early this morning?"

"I need to see Jesse," Steve responded. "Is he around?"

"He's in with a patient at the moment," Mark replied. He noticed that his son's expression was unusually serious, and asked, "Is something wrong?" Steve nodded.

"I'm afraid so. Pete Pierello was murdered last night."

"Pete? The new waiter at BBQ Bobs?" Mark asked in dismay. Steve nodded again, and Mark looked over to one of the nurses at the station. "Lisa, will you have Dr. Travis meet us in the doctor's lounge as soon as he gets done with his patient?" Receiving an affirmative response, Mark put a hand on his son's arm and steered him to the lounge.

"So what happened?" Mark asked as they entered the lounge. He went over to pour them both some coffee.

"He was attacked in the parking lot of his apartment complex and stabbed." 

"A mugging?" Mark handed his son a cup of coffee and seated himself at the small table in the center of the room.

"It doesn't look like it. He still had his wallet with about $30 in it, and his watch wasn't taken." Steve sipped his coffee as his father digested that fact. He was about to continue the story, when Jesse entered the lounge.

"Hey, Steve," the doctor greeted his friend. "What's up?"

Steve looked over at Jesse somberly. He knew that Jesse had become friendly with the young waiter who had recently come to work at the restaurant they jointly owned.

"I'm afraid I've got bad news, Jess," he said. "Pete Pierello was killed last night."

Jesse stared at him in shock for a moment, and then sank slowly into a chair. 

"What happened?" he asked.

"He was stabbed in the parking lot of his apartment complex," Steve replied, "apparently around 1:00 this morning."

"How did you fix the time so closely?" asked Mark curiously, knowing that the medical examiners usually give a range of times.

"There was a witness – a college kid coming back late from a study session – who saw a man running away from the lot at that time. He went over to see what the guy was running from and found Pete."

"I just can't believe it," Jesse muttered. "He was so happy last night…"

Steve looked at him sympathetically. "Actually, Jess, I was kind of hoping he might have said something to you that might give us an idea of where to start. Did he say anything in particular about where he was going or who he was seeing?"

"He said he had a big date," Jesse replied. "He's been seeing this girl he met at a dance club, and he was all excited about getting together with her last night." He paused unhappily. "In fact, I was teasing him about being so excited that he kept dropping things. We were getting pretty slow anyway, so I sent him off early."

"That's probably where he was coming back from at that hour," mused Steve. "Did he tell you the girl's name or where she lives?" Jesse shook his head slowly, considering it.

"No… he never actually mentioned her name," he replied. "But I'm pretty sure he said she worked at the Tulip Club." 

"Okay, thanks, Jess; I'll check out the club and see if I can find out who the girl is." Steve drained his coffee cup and got up to leave. "I'll see you guys later," he said, giving his friend a sympathetic pat on the arm as he went out.

****

Chapter 2

Late that afternoon, having shown Pete's picture around the Tulip Club when it opened, Steve had obtained a name and address for Pete's girlfriend. Her name was apparently Terri Hopper, and she was a dancer at the club. He went out to the address he had been given and found a small house in a nearby suburb.

"Yes?" A nicely curved, attractive young woman in her early twenties, with shoulder-length, wavy blond hair answered the door.

"Terri Hopper?" asked Steve.

"Yes?" she asked again.

"I'm Lt. Steve Sloan," Steve said, holding up his police id for her to see. "May I come in and talk to you for a few minutes?" He saw her hesitate, and added, "It's about Peter Pierello."

"Pete?" Terri opened the door, letting Steve in. "What about him? Is he okay?" she asked with quick concern.

"I'm afraid Pete was killed early this morning," Steve said gently. He watched Terri's eyes widen and her hand go to her mouth.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed, looking shocked. "What happened?" She led Steve into the small living room, and sank onto the couch. 

"He was attacked in the parking lot of his apartment complex," Steve replied, taking a seat in a chair across from her. "I understand he was with you last night?"

"That's right," Terri confirmed. "He met me when I got off work, and we came back here." She looked at Steve in distress. "I can't believe it," she said. "We had such a nice evening…"

"Can you tell me what time he left here?" 

"It must have been around 12:30 or a bit before," Terri replied, thinking about it. "He said he had to be up early for work this morning. He works – " she caught herself, wincing, and changed tense – "worked at a restaurant in downtown LA, and he said he was doing the breakfast shift today." 

Steve nodded at this reference to Pete's employment at BBQ Bob's, and noted that, given the distance from here to Pete's apartment, that fit in with the probable time of the attack.

"What exactly happened? Was he mugged?" Terri asked, tentatively.

"We're still looking into the possibilities," Steve replied vaguely. "But nothing seems to have been taken." He noticed that Terri was now looking distinctly uneasy, and his interest quickened. "He was stabbed – apparently as he was going from his car to his apartment," he added, watching her closely. 

"Oh my God," Terri breathed in horror. "Maybe it was him!"

"'Him'?" Steve asked sharply. "Who?" Terri looked at him with wide, scared eyes.

"The guy who's been sending me the letters," she said in a shaken voice.

"What letters?"

Terri drew a deep breath. "I've been getting these letters," she explained, "from some crazy guy, telling me stuff like I belong to him and I wasn't to date other men."

"Did you report this to the police?" Steve asked. Terri shook her head.

"I just thought it was some crank. The dancers do get crank letters sometimes from kooks. I've only gotten a few – I guess I didn't take it seriously."

"But you do now," Steve observed. Terri looked back at him uncertainly.

"Well, it's just… the last letter I got mentioned that if I ever got involved with someone else, something terrible would happen."

"And you didn't think that was worth reporting to the police?"

"I told you – I just thought it was a crank. I felt stupid taking it to the police." Terri was getting upset, tears forming in her eyes. "I never thought he'd actually do anything. I certainly never thought Pete would be in danger! Oh, this is all my fault," she sobbed.

Steve looked her over, trying to determine if her reaction was genuine. It certainly appeared to be; there was a ring of sincerity in her responses that made him feel sorry for her. He sighed mentally. People were often reluctant to go to the police with anything that wasn't concrete or that could be embarrassing. If she was on the up-and-up, he certainly didn't want to make her feel guilty.

"Look, often these letters don't mean anything," he said consolingly. "It's always hard to know how seriously to take them." He saw her look up gratefully. "Do you still have the letters?" he asked. She shook her head.

"No," she said miserably. "I just tore them up and threw them away. I'm sorry."

"Do you have any idea who could have been sending them?" Steve asked. "Any ex-boyfriends, guys who came on to you at the club, anything like that?"

Terri considered the question, shrugging slightly.

"No ex-boyfriend," she replied. "As for guys at the club – well, there are always guys who come on to the dancers."

"Anyone who was particularly persistent or seemed unusually upset by rejection?"

Terri started to shake her head; then paused, considering.

"Well… there was this one guy," she said slowly.

"Yes?" Steve prompted.

"There's not really much I can put my finger on," Terri said. "He just seemed kind of creepy. He would come and watch the shows and stare at me, but he never talked much to anybody, and never really approached me. A couple of the waitresses noticed him because he would usually just order one drink and sit and nurse it until the last show was over, and then he'd leave. We all thought he was kind of weird, but he never caused a problem, so we just pretty much ignored him."

"Do you know his name?"

Again Terri shook her head. "One of the waitresses might," she suggested. She looked at Steve sadly. "I really wish I could tell you more," she said. 

"Maybe you still can," Steve replied. "Would you mind coming down to the police station with me now? We have a witness who got a glimpse of a man leaving the scene at about the time of the attack. The sketch artist should have completed a sketch by now; maybe you could take a look at it and see if it looks familiar. And you could give us any details you can remember about the letters you got – what they looked like, how they arrived, postmarks, wording, things like that." Terri hesitated a moment, then nodded.

"Okay," she agreed determinedly. "If you think it might help catch whoever killed Pete, I'll do it." As she went to get up, she let out a small exclamation of pain and looked down at her arm which she had been absentmindedly scratching. "This stupid rash!" she complained, blotting at the small spot of blood she had drawn.

"That looks like a pretty nasty rash," Steve observed. "Have you seen a doctor about it?"

"I've only had it since this morning," Terri answered. "And I hate doctors. I'm sure it'll just go away by itself."

Steve looked again at the rash which was red and angry looking, dotted with blood here and there where Terri had scratched.

"You really should have that seen to," he suggested. "What's so bad about doctors, anyway?"

"They're so pompous and stodgy and always asking dumb questions and being judgmental," Terri complained sourly. Steve raised his eyebrows.

"How many doctors have you actually known?" he asked.

"Too many," was the reply. Seeing Steve look questioningly at her, Terri elaborated. "I was in the hospital for a while a few years back. And my father was a doctor."

"And was your father 'pompous and stodgy and judgmental'?" Steve asked with a smile.

"He was the worst," Terri responded, her tone bitter. "Always so worried about dignity and propriety. Almost everybody called him 'Doctor'; even the staff he worked with for over 30 years. Even his friends called him 'Daniel', never 'Dan'; and nobody would ever even dream of calling him 'Danny'!"

"Well, I know a doctor who's not in the least like that," said Steve with a gleam of laughter in his eye. "We can stop by and see him on the way to the police station. And we don't even have to go to a hospital or doctor's office to do it!" Over Terri's attempt to protest, he steered her out the front door and over to his car.

****

Chapter 3

During the drive, Terri continued to protest against Steve's determination to have her see a doctor.

"So who is this doctor you're so sure is different, and where are we going to see him if not in an office?" she asked.

"It just so happens," Steve replied, "that my father is a doctor too. And we're going to stop by the house and see him on our way to the station."

"Oh, your father's going to love that," said Terri sarcastically. "Just drop by with a patient when he's off duty. It's not the way things are done." She saw Steve cast a quick glance at her, a wicked gleam in his blue eyes.

"Trust me," he said dryly. "My father's very flexible about these things." He saw that Terri was looking very skeptical, and grinned to himself. He probably shouldn't be teasing her like this, he thought, but he couldn't resist.

"What kind of doctor is he?" Terri asked, hoping that at least he wouldn't be some kind of hotshot specialist.

"He's head of internal medicine at Community General Hospital," Steve replied blandly. His mental grin broadened as Terri looked like her worst fears were being confirmed. "But nobody's ever called him 'stodgy'," he added, unable to keep the twinkle from showing in his eyes.

The rest of the ride passed in relative silence, Terri obviously feeling uncomfortable with the prospect of bearding the medical dragon in his lair, despite Steve's assurances that he was very different from the way she had described her own father.

They arrived at the beach house and entered to hear what sounded like a tap dancing session going on in the study. As they walked into the study, they stopped at the doorway, and Terri stood staring in astonishment at the sight of a white-haired, distinguished-looking elderly gentleman apparently giving tap dancing lessons to two young African-American boys. The man was clearly enjoying himself, hamming up the routine, to the delight of the boys. Terri cast a quick glance at Steve to see that he was watching with amused affection.

"Okay, here comes the finale," she heard the older man say.

"I can do it, Uncle Mark – watch!" called the younger of the two boys.

Under the astonished gaze of Terri, and the amused gaze of Steve, the man and the older of the two boys executed a neat series of rapid steps, but at the last moment, the younger boy slipped and fell sideways behind the older man, tripping him up so that the two of them landed in a heap on the floor. Terri watched in horror, expecting to see the boys get excoriated for carelessness, only to realize that all three dancers were laughing, as was Steve, who was moving quickly, but without alarm, to help his father rise.

"Well, that was quite a finish," Steve declared as he reached an arm down to haul his father up. "You okay, Dad?" Mark looked up at him with pleased surprise.

"Hi, Steve! I'm fine. Aren't they doing great?" he said, casting proud glances at the two boys.

"Hi, Uncle Steve!" cried the younger boy, running to give him a hug. "Did you see me? I almost did it that time!"

"Yeah, you almost took out Uncle Mark!" ribbed the older boy with tolerant humor. "Hi, Uncle Steve."

"Hi CJ, Dion," replied Steve, hugging the younger boy back and reaching over to ruffle the older one's hair.

"I'm sorry about that, Uncle Mark," said CJ at the same time. "But I really do almost have it!"

"You certainly do, CJ," agreed Mark encouragingly.

"Where's Amanda?" Steve asked, looking around for her.

"She had a quick errand to run," Mark explained, brushing himself off, "so the boys and I decided to have a little visit of our own. She should be back shortly." By this time, he had noticed Terri standing in the doorway, and cast a quick, inquiring look at his son, as he turned off the music to which he and the boys had been dancing.

Steve looked over at Terri, blue eyes alight with laughter at the slightly stunned and bewildered expression on her face. 

"Dad, this is Terri Hopper, Pete's girlfriend," he said. "Terri, this is my father, Dr. Mark Sloan." 

"Hello, Terri," Mark greeted her with a smile. "Nice to meet you." The smile dimmed as he added, "I'm really sorry about Pete. He seemed like such a nice young man."

Terri, who was struggling to readjust her preconceived notions of what this visit would be like, took a moment to process the implications of that statement.

"You knew Pete?" she asked.

"Not well," Mark replied, "but I met him a few times at BBQ Bob's, of course." He threw a questioning look at Steve.

"I don't think I mentioned that fact that my father, a good friend of ours, and I own Bob's," Steve explained to Terri. 

"Oh," said Terri, somewhat at a loss for words. She reflected that this visit was turning out to be full of surprises. A doctor who tap danced and played with kids he appeared to be babysitting, a cop who owned a BBQ restaurant … what other oddities were waiting to pop up?

"And this is CJ and Dion," Mark said, turning back to the boys who were obviously checking out this new person Steve had brought in. They greeted Terri politely. "Why don't you guys go out and play on the beach for a while," Mark suggested. "Just stay inside the fence."

As the boys went out to play, Mark invited Terri to come out on the deck and sit down.

"Can I get you some lemonade or coffee?" he offered. Still looking rather tentative about the whole thing, Terri opted for lemonade.

"Actually, Dad, why don't I get it," suggested Steve. "We stopped here on our way to the police station to ask you to take a look at Terri's arm. She's got a really nasty looking rash on it, and she seems to have an aversion to doctors and hospitals," he explained with a twinkle in his eye. "So I convinced her that this would be a very informal checkup." He saw Terri blush slightly and met his father's glance of amused comprehension. "It's okay, Terri, he doesn't bite," he teased as he left to get the lemonade.

When he returned from the kitchen bearing a tray with a pitcher full of lemonade and several glasses, his father was finishing his exam of Terri's arm.

"It looks like an allergic reaction to something that scratched you," Mark was saying. 

"It must have been my neighbor's cat," Terri said. "She's always getting into woods and stuff – she probably had something on her claws when she scratched me."

"Well, I can give you a prescription for a steroid cream that should help," Mark said. "If it doesn't improve in a day or two, you'd better have it looked at again." He looked up at her with a twinkle. "I can always make a house call if you'll feel more comfortable!"

Terri blushed again, glaring at Steve as he set the tray down on the table.

"I'm sorry about that, Dr. Sloan," she said deprecatingly. "It's just that, well, most of the doctors I've known have been, well…"

"'Stodgy'," supplied Steve with a grin. He exchanged a laughing look with his father.

"Well, I try to avoid being 'stodgy' if I can!" laughed Mark.

"Or 'pompous'," added Steve.

"Who's pompous?" asked a new voice from the doorway. 

"Hi, Amanda," called Steve, leaning over to pull out the other chair for her to sit on. As she sat down and took the glass of lemonade Mark poured for her, he added, "I was just explaining to Terri here that Dad generally isn't considered to be either 'stodgy' or 'pompous'."

Amanda choked slightly on her drink. "No, I don't think anybody's ever accused Mark of being either of those things!" she agreed, laughing over at Mark.

Mark assumed an expression of wounded dignity. 

"I'll have you know I can be perfectly dignified and solemn when I wish to be," he declared.

"The key phrase being 'when you wish to be'," agreed Steve, grinning. 

"Which you usually don't," added Amanda, smiling affectionately at him. 

Mark let his own grin reappear, but chose to ignore these comments, merely saying to Terri, "You'll have to excuse these two, Terri. They forget their manners when they start picking on me. This is Dr. Amanda Bentley – who's not exactly stodgy herself! Amanda, this is Terri Hopper." 

As the two women exchanged greetings, he added, "Terri was Pete Pierello's girlfriend." That brought the conversation around to the murder, and Steve brought Mark and Amanda up to date on what he had found out so far, and explained that he and Terri were on their way to the station to see if she could give them some assistance in identifying the killer and/or the letter writer. After some discussion, he and Terri left.

Back in the car, Steve grinned at Terri.

"So, are you convinced that all doctors aren't as bad as you thought?" he teased.

"Actually, nothing about that visit was anything like the way I would have thought!" replied Terri. "Do you always discuss your cases with your father and friends?"

Steve looked at her in surprise. 

"Well, actually, my dad works as a consultant for the police department," he explained. "He helps out on a lot of cases. And Amanda's the assistant medical examiner, so she's frequently involved in cases. And since they both knew and liked Pete, they're undoubtedly going to be trying to help with this one." He grinned suddenly. "And when Dad decides he's going to help with a case, there's no point in trying to keep him out of it!"

Terri was silent for a moment, processing that information. None of these people, including Steve, fit any of the molds she was used to. Their warmth, easy friendliness, and affectionate camaraderie were all new to her. None of their behavior fit her expected pattern for professional people of their level in their fields. Despite her usual wariness around such people, she had found herself starting to feel very comfortable with them. She wondered if that was going to make things easier or harder for her during this investigation. 


	2. Part II

Chapter 4 

The next day, Steve, Mark, Amanda, and Jesse gathered in the hospital lounge, reviewing the case. Steve had brought the case file and the artist's sketch drawn from the description provided by the college student who had seen someone running from the scene of the attack.

"Terri wasn't able to identify the sketch," he told them, showing them the picture of a man with short, brown hair cut close to the head, and fairly neutral features, wearing a hat. "There really isn't much particularly distinctive in the description. He didn't even get a good look at the guy's shape – he was apparently wearing one of those loose, formless raincoats. And he had the hat pulled low over his face, so the kid wasn't even too sure of the features – certainly he didn't see anything that particularly stood out."

Jesse looked at the picture disparagingly. 

"Actually, it could be almost anybody," he said. Steve nodded glumly.

"Terri couldn't even say for sure that it wasn't the guy she said frequently shows up to stare at her during the shows. We'll show it around to the other staff at the Tulip Club when they open tonight, but I doubt that we'll do much better with anyone else."

"Maybe you'll get lucky and the guy'll be there tonight," Jesse suggested.

"Did you have any better luck with the letters?" Mark asked.

"Not much," Steve replied. "She couldn't remember much about the envelopes or postmarks at all. And the letters were all typed."

"It doesn't look like there was a lot of physical evidence, either," observed Amanda, who was reading the forensic report. "Although I see they did find a couple of light brown hairs on Pete's jacket."

"Which aren't likely to be Pete's, since he had almost black hair," noted Mark.

"Could they have been Terri's?" asked Jesse, who hadn't yet met her. 

"No, Terri's a blonde," replied Steve. 

"So there's at least the possibility that they could be the murderer's," Jesse said. "Which means that when we find a good suspect, we should be able to do a DNA match."

"Yeah, but first we have to find a good suspect," replied Steve. "Right now, we're a bit short on those." 

As they were discussing the case further, Steve's cell phone rang. He answered it, listening in surprise to the message relayed by the desk sergeant at the police station. He turned to his father and friends when he got off.

"I'm going to have to go, guys," he told them. "We just got a call from Terri – she's received another one of those anonymous letters." 

"Make sure she filled that prescription I gave her," called Mark as Steve headed for the door. "Tell her I'm going to check on her tomorrow to make sure it's getting better!"

Steve grinned and waved in acknowledgement as he left.

When he arrived at Terri's house, he found her rather distraught by the arrival of the new letter. She had just been fixing herself some herbal tea, which she claimed to find soothing, and she persuaded Steve to join her in a cup while he read the letter. 

__

"Terri You mustn't succumb to the blandishments of men. Bad things happen when you do – to them and you."

"Sounds like a trashy Victorian novel," snorted Steve, taking a sip of his tea. He tried not to make a face – he really didn't care much for herbal teas.

"That's partly why I didn't take them too seriously," agreed Terri. "But now, it's got me scared."

"I can't say that I blame you," Steve replied sympathetically, reflecting that a very 'bad thing' had certainly happened to Pete. "Did any of the other letters threaten you?"

"Not exactly," Terri said. "They just sounded like vague warnings against giving in to the 'wicked desires' of men because I'd be sorry afterward – that kind of thing. I never thought of them as threats." She grimaced. "Actually, it wasn't all that different from some of the stuff my father used to tell me when I was younger."

Reflecting that her father sounded like a real prize, Steve said lightly, "Speaking of fathers, mine wanted me to make sure you filled that prescription he gave you. He said he's planning on checking on you tomorrow to make sure the rash is clearing up properly." He had the satisfaction of seeing her expression lighten a bit as she automatically glanced down at her arm.

"Tell him not to worry," she replied with a smile, "it's much better already. I have been using the cream he prescribed."

"He'll be glad to hear that," Steve declared, smiling back at her. Her face took on an expression of curiosity.

"Your father sure seems to be very different from mine," she observed, her tone slightly wistful.

"Well, Dad's pretty unique," Steve replied with a glint of humor in his eyes. Watching him, Terri could see the obvious affection underlying the amusement. 

"I can't imagine ever kidding around with my father the way you guys do," Terri commented. "He was always so concerned about being properly respected; he never tolerated that sort of familiarity from anybody, least of all his kids." 

"Sounds tough," Steve said sympathetically, noticing again the bitterness that entered her tone whenever she mentioned her father. Curious, he prompted her to continue. "Sounds like he must have been difficult to live with."

"He was," Terri responded emphatically. "That's why I left as soon as I could. Of course, he was glad to see me go. I didn't behave at all the way a doctor's daughter should."

"How should a doctor's daughter behave?" asked Steve.

"Oh, I should have been a 'little lady', and stayed away from boys and taken up nursing," Terri said, her voice mocking. "If I'd been a son, I suppose he would have wanted me to be a doctor, like him, but he didn't think much of women doctors. So I was supposed to be a nurse. Wanting to be something as 'vulgar' as a dancer was the absolute last straw as far as he was concerned." She looked at Steve curiously. "Did your father ever want you to be a doctor?"

"Dad always said he'd support whatever I wanted to do. And I just wasn't interested in being a doctor."

"He didn't try to influence you at all?" Terri asked. Steve shook his head. "And he didn't mind you being a cop?"

"Actually, he wasn't crazy about that idea," Steve replied seriously; "he worries. But he never said anything." He grinned again, suddenly. "Besides, he likes getting involved in solving cases."

Terri smiled in response. Then, noticing the time, she declared that she had to start getting ready to go to work at the club. Observing that the worried expression had returned to her face, Steve volunteered to drive her to the club to make sure she arrived safely. 

"And I can have someone pick you up and bring you home afterwards, if you can tell me what time you'll be done."

"That would be great," Terri said thankfully. "I'm on early tonight; I should be done by 9:00."

Steve promised to have an officer take her home, and Terri went off to dress for work. As he waited for her, he took a closer look at the envelope the anonymous letter had arrived in. The first thing he noticed was that the stamp hadn't been cancelled. While it was not completely unknown for a piece of mail to escape cancellation at the post office, it was rare. The greater probability, Steve thought, was that it hadn't gone through the mail system at all, but had simply been placed in the mailbox. Which meant that there was a distinct possibility that the writer had been to the house that day. It would be worth checking with the neighbors to see if anyone had noticed someone putting something in the mailbox. 

As he continued to examine the envelope, he also noticed a single strand of light brown hair, the end of which had apparently gotten caught in the glue of the flap. It looked to him like a match for the hair they had found on Pete's jacket, and Steve felt a flicker of excitement. If it was a match, they had their first concrete evidence that the letter writer and the murderer were one and the same. He bagged the letter, envelope, and hair to submit to the forensics lab. He also took out his cell phone to call to have someone come out to dust the mailbox for prints. The odds were that there wouldn't be any, but it paid to be sure.

Chapter 5 

When Steve brought Terri to the Tulip Club, he went in with her, figuring he might as well show the sketch of the suspected murderer around to see if anyone at the club could identify it. He was also hoping that Terri's 'creepy' fan would show. Both efforts were a failure, however. No one was able to recognize the picture, and there was no sign of the anonymous fan. However, Steve did find himself talking to one of the other dancers, an attractive brunette named Karen, who was apparently a close friend of Terri's.

"It's too bad about Pete," Karen said. "He was a really nice guy. Terri said he looked like being the first positive relationship she'd ever had with a man." She rolled her eyes. "She certainly didn't get on with her Victorian dictator of a father!"

"I gathered they weren't exactly close," Steve said, curious to hear what else Karen could tell him about Terri. She snorted.

"That's putting it mildly! He was a real jerk, if you ask me," Karen declared. "He wouldn't even let Terri date anyone – said all guys were just after sex and she was supposed to keep herself 'above reproach'. He had Terri so messed up – I'm surprised she managed to pull herself together even with the shrinks."

Steve's eyebrow went up as he absorbed this information.

"You seem to know a lot about her," he observed. "You two must be very close." Karen looked like she was suddenly realizing just how much she had said.

"Terri and I have been friends since high school," she explained briefly. "We came out here together to try to get started as dancers." She looked at her watch. "I've really got to go get ready," she said, starting to turn away. She paused for a moment, looking back at him. "Terri's a great person," she told him. "I really hope you get the creep who's been doing all this."

"We'll do our best," Steve replied. As Karen left to get ready, Steve headed back out to his car. Just as he was walking out the door, however, one of the waitresses ran up to him.

"Hey, Lieutenant – wait!" she called. Steve turned around. "That guy you were asking about – the creepy one who watches Terri – he's here!" 

__

Great – this might not be such a washout, after all, thought Steve, heading back into the club. The waitress pointed out an inconspicuous man being seated at a corner table. Reaching for his id to show the man, Steve started towards him. Just before sitting down, the man glanced over and saw Steve approaching. Moving with unexpected swiftness, he grabbed the waitress who had just shown him to the table, flung her directly into Steve, and bolted for the back door. 

Taken by surprise, Steve lost a few seconds as he disentangled himself from the waitress, then took off after the fugitive. Pulling his gun, he ran out the back, into the parking lot, pausing for a moment to let his eyes to adjust to the darkness. As he glanced quickly around, taking a moment to try to ascertain the direction the man had taken, a car shot across the lot straight towards him, tires squealing as it raced for the exit without stopping. 

With barely a second to spare, Steve dove out of the way of the oncoming vehicle, hitting the ground hard and rolling into a pile of boxes, which cascaded down on top of him. Groaning slightly, he pushed himself up, holding his right arm which had been badly jarred when he had landed on it. _What the hell was that all about?_ he wondered. Pulling out his cell phone, he called in a description of the car, along with the partial license plate number he had been able to get, and asked for the driver to be picked up for questioning. Anybody who was that anxious to avoid an encounter with a cop had to have something he was hiding, Steve reflected. Rubbing at his aching arm, he walked over to his car, hoping that maybe this case was starting to break.


	3. Part III

Chapter 6 

Steve drove to the police station to drop off the evidence he had collected at Terri's house. He arranged to have an officer be at the club at 9:00 to take Terri home, brought the letter and envelope to the forensics lab, and put a rush request on the DNA check of the hair. That done, and after checking to make sure there was an APB out on the car that had almost run him down, he headed home.

At the beach house, Steve found his father at his desk in the study, leafing through the file on Pete's murder. Mark looked up as Steve entered, noticing the slight stiffness in his movements as his son came over to join him.

"Are you alright?" he asked in quick concern.

"I'm fine," Steve replied, reflecting that there was no point in trying to hide even a minor injury from a father who was not only a doctor, but an extremely observant one. "Just picked up a bruise or two diving out of the way of a car."

Mark's raised an eyebrow at him. "Careless driving or felonious intent?" he asked.

"Actually, I'm not sure," Steve responded, considering it. "Terri's 'creepy fan' showed up at the club tonight, and when I went to talk to him, he took off on me. I'm not really sure if he was actually trying to run me over or if he was just hell-bent on getting out of there as fast as possible."

"That's interesting," said Mark, considering the implications. "It certainly makes him look like a good suspect." Steve nodded.

"I got a partial plate," he said. "We'll find him and pick him up." 

Not to be diverted for long, Mark inspected his son, looking for any signs that Steve required medical attention. Not finding any, he relaxed somewhat.  
  
"You sure you're okay?" he asked.

"Positive," Steve said with a reassuring smile. He looked over at the file in front of his father. "Come up with anything new?" he asked.

"Not really," Mark replied. "I was just looking over the photos of the crime scene. If the murderer was waiting for Pete, he must have been hiding in these bushes at the edge of the parking lot. What I was wondering was: how did he know when Pete would be coming back? Surely he wouldn't take the risk of lurking around the parking lot all night!"

"You think he was following Pete?" Steve asked. 

"Maybe," Mark replied without conviction. "Or maybe it was someone in one of these apartments that had a view of the lot."

"It'd be a pretty big coincidence if the guy sending the letters to Terri just happened to live in the same apartment complex as Pete," said Steve skeptically.

"Yeah, but we don't know for sure yet that the letter writer and the murderer are the same person," Mark responded.

"We may know soon," declared Steve. "There was a hair caught in the flap of the envelope of the letter Terri got today. It was light brown, just like the ones we found on Pete's jacket. I asked the guys in forensics to rush the test to see if it matches. If it does – and I'm pretty sure it will – then we've definitely linked the writer and the murderer." 

"What else did you find out?" Mark asked curiously.

"The envelope the letter came in was addressed and stamped, but the stamp hadn't been cancelled," Steve told him.

"So it might not have been mailed at all!" Mark observed in surprise. Steve nodded.

"I'm going to have some officers visit the neighbors tomorrow and see if anyone noticed somebody putting anything in the mailbox," he said. "And I had someone go over to dust the mailbox for prints. Not that I really think they'll find anything useful," he added, "but we can hope."

"How's Terri doing with all this?" Mark asked. 

"She was a bit upset," Steve said, "but she seemed to be handling it all right." He smiled suddenly. "She said her arm's doing better, by the way. She did get the cream you prescribed."

"That's good," Mark replied, smiling back. "Maybe I'll go see her tomorrow anyway. I'd like to talk to her again."

"She'll probably like that." Steve grinned at him. "She seems to be pretty taken with you!" The grin faded. "Apparently her father was a pretty weird guy – all wrapped up in keeping up appearances and laying down the law. She said he never joked around with his kids or anything. And I talked to a girl friend of Terri's at the club, who said Pete was the first real boyfriend Terri had ever had. She indicated that her father had Terri so messed up that she had been seeing a psychiatrist at some point."

"Really?" Mark's eyebrows rose. "That must make it that much harder to deal with Pete being killed in such a way." He thought for a moment. "I think I really will go out to talk to her tomorrow."

"She told me the dancers would be at the club in the afternoon for a rehearsal," Steve said. "Maybe you can catch her there." He yawned suddenly. "I think I'll pack it in for the night – it's been a long day." 

"Good idea," Mark replied with a smile. "Good night, son."

"See you in the morning," Steve said, and left his father sitting at his desk, staring thoughtfully at the file in front of him.

Chapter 7 

The next day, Steve took Jesse out to Pete's apartment to look around some more. They spent some time going over the inside of the apartment to see if they could find anything that might seem significant. Bearing in mind his father's questions about where the murderer could have waited for Pete, Steve decided to do a thorough investigation of the areas around the parking lot as well. He and Jesse poked around in the bushes near where Pete's car had been parked, looking for signs that someone had hidden there. They found some broken branches, and what could have been an indentation from a shoe, but nothing that could be considered conclusive. They did determine, however, that a person hiding in the shrubbery would have had a clear line of sight to where Pete's car was parked, and would probably not have been visible himself in the darkness. They also found a lot of pricker bushes, prompting some vociferous complaints from Jesse.

While Steve and Jesse were checking out the murder scene, Mark went down to the Tulip Club to talk to Terri. When he arrived, she was involved in rehearsing a routine with a couple of other dancers. Finding himself on his own, after a patently disinterested staff member let him in and abandoned him, he indulged in his usual curious poking around. He wandered to the 'back stage' area where the dancers changed, taking in the scattered items of costuming, makeup, wig stands, and general paraphenalia that were typically found in such places. As he was looking around, one of the dancers came in. Hastily, he explained that he was just waiting for Terri to finish the rehearsal, but the girl didn't seem the least fazed by his presence. She sat on one of the chairs, slipped off her shoes, and started rubbing her left foot. Mark looked over at her.

"What's the matter?" he asked, his medical instincts aroused.

"I've got the most awful cramp in this damn foot," the girl complained. 

"Let me take a look," Mark volunteered. He pulled a chair in front of her, sat down, and took her foot in his hands. "Does this hurt?" he asked, stretching the toes gently downwards. She shook her head, and he continued to carefully manipulate the foot, stretching out the muscles and tendons, chatting sociably as he did so, casually getting her to relax and talk to him about the people at the club. During the course of the conversation, he found out that the girl's name was Tina, that Steve's pursuit of the anonymous fan the previous night had been a source of major excitement in the club, and that everyone was speculating about whether or not the man he chased was the one who had killed Pete Pierello.

"We were all sorry about what happened to Pete," Tina said. "Although, I think Karen was probably sorrier than most," she added with a touch of malice. "Other than Terri, of course." 

"Oh?" That piqued Mark's interest. "Why Karen in particular?"

"Everyone knew that she had a thing for Pete herself," Tina replied. "But he was strictly interested in Terri."

"That can cause hard feelings between friends," Mark prompted. 

Tina gave him a conspiratorial look. "I have to say she _seemed_ to be taking it okay. She and Terri have always been so buddy-buddy. Terri had her high school yearbook in here one time, and she and Karen looked like they were practically the Bobbsey twins or something in one of the pictures. But I think she was getting a bit jealous."

"Do you think she felt that Terri had taken Pete away from her?" 

"Well…you couldn't say Terri had stolen him," Tina temporized; "he never actually asked anybody out before her. It's just that you could tell that Karen was interested in him." She suddenly gave a little pout and added with a touch of humor, "Terri does seem to be getting all the interesting guys lately. Now she's got that hunk of a police detective hanging around her – it just doesn't seem fair to the rest of us!"

Mark's lips twitched at that description of his son, but he managed to keep a straight face. He finished his ministrations to Tina's foot and suggested that, before dancing, she should stretch it out as he had showed her. He waved off her thanks as he heard the other dancers returning. 

Terri entered the room and looked surprised to see Mark. 

"Dr. Sloan!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"I just thought I'd come by and check on that arm," Mark said with a smile. Terri looked slightly embarassed.

"It's fine," she said, holding it out for him to see. "I told Steve I was using the cream you prescribed."

"He told me," Mark assured her. "But I thought I'd just take a peek myself – if you don't mind?"

"I just feel bad you came all the way out here just to check on my arm," Terri replied, allowing him to inspect the fading rash. "You really didn't have to do that." 

"It's coming along nicely," Mark said, letting go of the arm. "Keep using the cream until it's all gone. And try to stay away from that cat's claws!"

Terri smiled vaguely at that. Then, looking at him, she abruptly said "I hope Steve is alright after last night. I heard about that guy almost running him down in the parking lot."

"He's fine," Mark responded, smiling at her reassuringly. "Nothing worse than a couple of bruises."

"I hope they catch that guy soon," Terri said. "It looks like he must be the one who killed Pete. It gives me the creeps to think of him sitting there watching me all those nights."

"Well, it's a bit early to jump to conclusions," Mark warned. "But whatever it is that caused him to run, I'm sure they'll pick him up soon." He noticed that Terri's face looked strained. "If you're worried about him coming back, I know Steve's got someone watching the club. You'll be safe here."

"I've been trying to convince her to come and stay with me until they get this guy," said Karen, coming over to join the conversation. "But she won't listen to me." Terri introduced her friend to Mark.

"I just feel better being in my own home," Terri explained. "Besides, you know you've got plans of your own tonight."

"Nothing that can't be cancelled," Karen declared. Terri smiled faintly, but maintained that she'd be fine at her own place. Mark chatted with them a bit longer, then headed back to the hospital.


	4. Part IV

Chapter 8 

At Community General, Mark, Jesse, Steve, and Amanda met to compare notes. Steve reported that they had identified the car that had nearly hit him in the club parking lot as belonging to a man named Tommy Callander. The police were currently looking for him, but so far hadn't found him.

"You think he's the killer?" Jesse asked.

"It's possible," Steve replied. "He's had a couple of run-ins with Vice before: he beat up one girlfriend a while back, and he's been picked up for stalking another one who broke up with him."

"Any history of sending threatening letters to the women he stalked?" inquired Amanda. Steve shook his head.

"No, and we have nothing to tie him to the ones Terri received."

"Did you get any identifiable fingerprints off Terri's mailbox?" asked Mark.

"Nothing useful. There were Terri's of course, and we identified the mailcarrier's prints. There were a couple of stray prints, but people are always leaving fliers in mailboxes, so that doesn't mean much. We compared Callander's prints to what we had, but we didn't get a match. And the letter and envelop only had Terri's prints on them. And so far, we haven't turned up any neighbors who saw anybody putting something in the mailbox."

"How about the hair?" Amanda asked. "Did it match the one on Pete's jacket? And could it be Callander's?"

"We haven't got the DNA report back yet," Steve said. "And we don't have anything of Callander's yet to compare it to. Color-wise, there's nothing that says it can't be his – his hair's a sort of nondescript shade of brown."

"You know, there's something nagging at me that I just can't put my finger on," Mark said thoughtfully. "Something I heard or saw when I was at the club…"

"Something Terri said?" asked Steve curiously.

"I'm not sure," Mark replied. "I think it was when I was talking to Tina." He shook his head in frustration. "I just can't remember what it was." As he was trying to pin down the elusive memory, Steve's cell phone rang. 

"Sloan," he answered. He listened for a moment. "Great. What've you got?" A pause, and Steve's face took on a look of satisfaction. "Okay," he started to say, then stopped abruptly. "Wait a minute – say that again?" Mark and the others exchanged puzzled glances as they saw the double take Steve had done. They watched as he thanked the person on the other end and hung up, turning to face them with a bemused expression.

"What is it, Steve?" Mark asked. 

"That was the lab – they got the results of the DNA test on the hair from the anonymous letter envelope." 

"And?" prompted Jesse. 

"And they said, and I quote, 'it's definitely from the same woman'," replied Steve.

"_Woman_?" repeated Jesse in surprise. The friends exchanged blank looks. "Does that mean the murderer's a woman? Or aren't the hairs from the murderer after all?"

"There's nothing in the autopsy report that would rule out a woman as the killer," said Amanda thoughtfully.

"And the fact that the hair was caught in the envelope of the anonymous letter certainly seems to point to the woman as the letter writer," added Mark.

"And since the hair matches the one on Pete's jacket, it still links the murderer and the letter writer," said Steve. "So now we're looking at the possibility that the person who sent those letters to Terri and killed Pete is not a man, but a woman."

"So who does that leave us with?" asked Jesse.

"There's Karen," said Mark. "She has brown hair."

"I thought she and Terri were supposed to be good friends," said Amanda. "Why would she send those letters to her and kill Pete?"

"Tina indicated that Karen had shown signs of interest in Pete herself; she said she thought Karen was getting jealous of Terri," Mark replied. 

"Jealous enough to kill?" questioned Steve.

Mark shrugged. "It's hard to say. She certainly wouldn't want to show it if she was." He thought for a moment. "For that matter, Tina sounded more than a bit jealous of Terri herself." He suppressed a sudden smile as he remembered that Steve had been a factor in that jealousy.

"Great. Maybe I should just go down to the club and start collecting hair samples from all the dancers," Steve muttered in frustration. "And where does Callander fit in with all this?"

"What if the letter writer and the murderer aren't the same after all?" suggested Jesse. The others looked at him in surprise. "If the letter writer is one of the dancers at the club, then it's always possible that Pete got the hairs on his jacket there, not from the murderer," he explained.

"Which means Callendar could still be the killer," Steve pointed out. 

Mark grimaced in frustration. "I just wish I could remember what it was that I heard at the club!"

"In any event," said Steve, "it looks like things are definitely pointing to someone at the club being involved in this somehow. I think I'll go down there and poke around some more. And I'll give Terri a ride home to make sure she gets there all right." He nodded to the others and left.

Chapter 9 

At the Tulip Club, Steve talked to the waitresses and dancers again, trying to get a feel for who among them might harbor a grudge against Terri. Since there was now the possibility that the letter writer, at least, was a woman, he also wanted to see if he could pin down their movements during the time when the last letter had been put in Terri's mailbox. Bearing in mind the information he'd gotten from his father, he decided to focus on Tina and Karen. Neither of them had alibis for the time when Pete had been killed; but since that had been around 1:00 in the morning, the fact that they both claimed to be asleep was hardly unreasonable. It was also impossible to rule out the possibility that one of them had placed the anonymous letter in Terri's mailbox, since there was no certainty about when the letter had actually been planted. He was still trying to get some sense of just how jealous Karen might be, when Terri finished her routine and came over to see him.

"How come you were asking Karen all those questions?" she asked him.

Steve looked back at her gravely. "We've gotten a little more information on whoever's writing those letters," he told her, trying to think of a way to break the news that the writer might actually be one of her friends. "We have reason to think it might be a woman."

Terri looked at him blankly. "A woman? Why would a woman write me letters like those?"

"It's possible that it might be someone who was jealous of your relationship with Pete," Steve explained as gently as he could. Terri stared at him for a moment before she realized where this was heading.

"And you think _Karen_ might have sent them?" she asked incredulously. "That's crazy! Karen's been my dearest friend for years!"

"I understand she was pretty interested in Pete herself," Steve said.

"Who told you that?" demanded Terri angrily. "I'll bet it was Tina! She's always spreading malicious gossip about people!"

"What about Tina?" asked Steve. "Does she have any reason to be particularly jealous of you? Or hold a grudge against you?"

"Oh, this is ridiculous," Terri said, looking upset. "Do you really think somebody here at the club is doing all this?"

"Well, it's a possibility," Steve replied. "We've got to look into it." 

"What makes you think a woman wrote those letters?"

"We found a brown hair stuck to the flap of the envelope you gave me," Steve said. "We ran a DNA analysis and discovered that it's a woman's hair. It also matched a couple of hairs that were found on Pete's jacket. It's possible that Pete could have picked up the hairs here at the club."

He saw that Terri was really perturbed by this idea. "This is such a nightmare," she said. "I'm beginning to feel like I'm not safe anywhere; that I can't trust anybody!"

"Look, if you're done here for the night, why don't I take you home," Steve suggested. "I'll make sure everything's secure there, and you can relax."

Terri hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Let me just go get my things," she said. Steve watched her go back to the changing area, unaware that he was the target of thoughts nearby: _He's getting too close…we'll have to do something about him…_


	5. Part V

Chapter 10 

When they arrived at Terri's house, Steve did a quick search around the interior, checking doors, windows, and closets, making sure that there was no sign of an intruder or any trouble. 

"All's clear," he reported.

"Thanks," Terri replied. She looked around the house, still feeling flustered. "You know, I still feel kind of unsettled," she said. "I think I'll make some tea." She looked at him hopefully. "I don't suppose you'd like to join me for a cup?"

"Sure," replied Steve, figuring that he could keep her company for a while until she felt more secure. As Pete's girlfriend, he felt an obligation to do what he could for her. Pete had been, for a short while, part of the BBQ Bob's team, and a friend of Jesse's, and he felt he owed it to him. Besides, it wasn't much of a strain – Terri was a very attractive, likeable young woman; an hour or two in her company would be pleasant – even if it did involve drinking more herbal tea. 

While waiting for the water to boil, Terri joined Steve on the couch in the living room.

"It's really nice of you and your father to go out of your way for me like this," she said.

Steve smiled at her, shrugging slightly. "We're nice people," he replied lightly.

Terri smiled back. "I can see that." 

They chatted for a while, and Terri reflected that the Sloan men certainly had a lot of charm. She found herself succumbing to that charm, relaxing into a feeling of security that she rarely felt with men. If it weren't for the gun still strapped to Steve's side, she could imagine that this were a regular social situation rather than a police one.

"You know, that thing's making me kind of nervous," she told Steve, pointing to the weapon. "Every time I look at it, it makes me feel like someone's going to break in here any minute."

Steve looked at her in surprise, but considered the point. He had made sure everything was secure in the house and the doors and windows were all locked; there didn't seem to be any imminent danger. He unclipped the holster from his belt and placed in on the end table next to the couch, behind the lamp, where it was partially hidden but would be immediately accessible in the unlikely event that he needed it.

"How's that?" he asked. "Better?"

"Much," she replied, smiling gratefully. "I just couldn't seem to relax with that thing staring at me."

The piercing whistle of the tea kettle interrupted them, and Terri got up to fix the tea. Had there been an observer in the kitchen, he would have seen a remarkable metamorphosis come over her. As she leaned against the counter near the stove, her entire expression and body posture seemed to convulse and change, turning her into a completely different person. She looked around the kitchen as if taking her bearings, her new expression one of contemptuous skepticism. _You think he's so different,_ she sneered to her alternate self. _He wants something, just like all men. He's just more dangerous than the others. I'm going to have to protect us before he finds out about us._ She reached up into the cabinet and took out a small canister hidden behind the regular tea blends. _I think a bit of the 'special blend' is in order…_

A few minutes later, 'Terri' emerged from the kitchen with the tea tray. 

"I made some of my favorite tea," she told Steve. "It's a blend of several different herbs and spices."

Steve accepted the cup of tea she poured him and took a sip. Trying not to grimace over the unusual flavor, he added some sugar to his cup and smiled politely. 'Terri' maintained a flow of small talk for a few minutes, watching to be sure he drank his tea. When she was sure he had drunk about half the cup, she excused herself, promising to be back in a minute. 

Left alone, Steve looked casually around the room, noticing its neatness and muted colors, finding them somewhat surprising in a girl with a taste for flamboyant dancing. Probably a hangover from the 'neatness and propriety' her father had stressed all her life, he thought. It must have been pretty awful growing up with the father she and Karen had described. No wonder she had been so taken aback by meeting his father, he reflected with a brief grin. He wondered what her father would have thought of the head of Internal Medicine at Community General Hospital roller skating through the hallways, and the grin broadened. His thoughts started to wander, and he realized suddenly that he was feeling surprisingly groggy. He straightened himself up from the slouched position he had relaxed into, and took another gulp of his tea. It wasn't coffee, but maybe there was some caffeine in it, he thought. It didn't seem to help. He decided to try walking around to wake himself up; but when he tried to stand up, he felt dizziness wash over him, and he staggered, grabbing onto the back of a chair. Alarm bells started going off inside his head, as he realized that there was definitely something wrong here. 

"Terri?" he tried to call. But he seemed to be unable to summon the energy to raise his voice loudly enough to be heard more than a few feet away. He swayed on his feet, finding it difficult to focus on anything clearly. With the remaining remnants of clarity in his mind, he realized that he had been drugged. He wondered if Terri had been drugged as well, and started to head down the hall to find her, only to bump into the couch as he staggered again. Desperately trying to think through the mists that were rapidly fogging his brain, he realized that he needed to call for help before he totally passed out. He reached down for his cell phone, only to find that it wasn't there. His thoughts processes dulled by the drug, it was a moment before he realized that he had left it in his jacket pocket, and that Terri had taken his jacket to hang somewhere. It was another moment before he realized that there was a phone in the kitchen and headed in that direction.

He staggered into the kitchen, intent on reaching the phone to call for help before he completely passed out. As he entered the room, however, he found someone there before him. The person's back was to him, and at first he thought it was a man. As Steve paused at the unexpected sight, the figure turned, and he saw that it was Terri – but this 'Terri' had light brown hair, pulled severely back off her face and tucked up under a baseball cap. As his sluggish brain tried to make sense of this transformation, 'Terri' turned and saw him, and he suddenly realized that she was holding a large carving knife.

"Terri?" he asked in confusion. Instead of replying, the figure raised the knife and lunged toward him. 

Drug-dazed though his brain might be, Steve knew better than to stick around long enough to try to figure out what was happening. He turned and lurched back out into the living room, avoiding the plunging knife by inches. He staggered through the room, trying to avoid his attacker, fear sending a burst of adrenaline through his system, helping to clear his mind slightly. He remembered his gun, and headed for the end table where he had left it. Unfortunately, in his desperate lunge for it, he miscalculated – overbalancing himself into the table, sending the weapon sliding off the edge to slip under the couch as he and the table tumbled to the ground. 

With a wordless cry of triumph, 'Terri' pounced.


	6. Part VI

Chapter 11 

Back at Community General, Mark, Jesse, and Amanda were in Mark's office, discussing the case over the remains of dinner. Jesse was working the late shift to cover for a friend who had an unexpected family emergency, and Amanda was finishing up some reports that were overdue, so Mark had volunteered to bring dinner in for all of them. 

"You know, the timing of Pete's murder still bothers me," Mark said. "How did the murderer know Pete would be coming back at that time? Did he – or she – follow him home from Terri's? Or did he hang around the parking lot just waiting for him?"

"Well, I'll tell you one thing," responded Jesse; "whoever it was would have to be nuts to hang around in those bushes – especially in the dark. There's about a million prickers in there! I was just in there for a few minutes in the daytime and I got scratches all over." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "It itches too," he complained. "I've got to remember to pick up some steroid cream at the pharmacy."

Mark's ears pricked up. "Jesse, let me take a look at your neck," he said, coming over to stand behind him. He looked down at the faint rash around the collar of his friend's shirt. "You know, this looks a lot like the rash on Terri's arm…" He raised his head, his eyes narrowed speculatively.

"Terri?" Amanda repeated in surprise, as she realized where Mark's thoughts were headed. "But Terri has blonde hair."

"Maybe she dyed it," suggested Jesse.

"That's what I was trying to remember!" Mark exclaimed suddenly. He looked around at his friends. "When I was talking to Tina, she mentioned that Terri had brought in her high school yearbook one time. Tina said she saw a picture where Terri and Karen looked like 'the Bobbsey twins'. You don't usually say that about people with different hair colors – and Karen has brown hair." 

"But if Terri's hair was dyed blonde, then any hairs she left on Pete's jacket or the envelope should have had at least traces of dye on them too," protested Amanda.

"What if it's not dyed – what if it's a wig?" Mark suggested. "When I was back stage at the Tulip Club, I noticed that a lot of the girls had wig stands at their tables. Maybe Terri wears a blonde wig! She could have taken off the wig, and worn a shapeless coat and hat to disguise herself when she killed Pete."

"That would work," Amanda mused thoughtfully. "And she could have planted that anonymous letter herself." 

Mark nodded. "That would also explain the timing issue," he said. "She could have slipped out of her house right after Pete left and taken an alternate route to his apartment, getting there before him."

"But why would Terri want to kill Pete?" asked Jesse. 

Mark shook his head thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. But Steve mentioned that Karen told him that Terri had been seeing a psychiatrist and indicated that she'd had some serious problems." He pulled the artist's sketch out of the case file and covered the hat with his hand, trying to imagine what the person would look like with blonde hair like Terri's. Jesse and Amanda peered over his shoulder. 

"Let me try something," said Amanda. Taking the sketch, she placed another sheet of paper over the top of the head, and lightly sketched something approaching Terri's hairstyle. The three doctors stared at the resulting picture. 

"It could be," said Jesse. 

Mark reached for his phone. "I'm going to call Steve," he announced, dialing his son's cell phone number. He listened as it rang, his brow creasing when he failed to get an answer. 

"Try calling the club," Jesse suggested. They waited as Mark looked up that phone number and placed the call to the Tulip Club. When he hung up, his expression was one of deepening concern.

"Steve left with Terri almost an hour ago," he reported. He looked up Terri's phone number in the file, and dialed her house. "The phone's out of order," he reported, hanging up. "I've got a bad feeling about this," he declared abruptly. "I'm going over there. Jesse, call Cheryl and have her meet me at Terri's house," he ordered as he moved swiftly toward the door. "Tell her I think Steve may be in trouble." 

"I'm going with you," said Amanda, running after him. Mark just nodded as he broke into a trot, and the two of them headed rapidly for his car, leaving Jesse anxiously dialing the police station.

Chapter 12 

Mark and Amanda pulled up outside Terri's house just as Cheryl was arriving with a backup unit. Mark gave Cheryl a quick update on the situation as they approached the front door. As they knocked at the door, they heard a series of thumps coming from inside, followed by a crash of furniture falling. Glancing in through the window beside the door, they saw Terri standing beside an overturned table, a knife raised above her head. Wasting no time, Cheryl and another officer kicked open the door.

They burst into the house just in time to see 'Terri' plunge the knife into the fallen figure at her feet. With an anguished cry of "**_Steve!_**" Mark rushed to his son's side as Cheryl overpowered 'Terri'. Mark dropped to his knees beside Steve, his heart dropping as he saw the spurting blood that was a tell-tale sign of a ruptured artery. Automatically pressing his hand against the gushing wound in Steve's chest, he anxiously tried to ascertain the complete extent of the damage. The knife had carved a deep, ragged gash in the side of Steve's chest, narrowly missing the lung. "Call an ambulance and the paramedics," he called over his shoulder to Amanda who had come up behind him, her face shocked and anxious.

As Mark checked his son out, Steve opened his eyes, instinctively jerking away from the touch that, in his semi-conscious state, he assumed was a renewed attack. Mark held him down, attempting to calm and reassure him.

"Steve, lie still. It's okay, it's me," he said. Steve relaxed, his eyes focussing on his father.

"Dad?" 

"I'm here," his father replied, keeping his voice as steady as he could. "You're going to be all right." 

Even as Mark attempted to reassure his son, he could feel the cold dread invading his heart as he assessed Steve's condition. The artery was gushing at an alarming rate, and the amount of blood building up in the chest cavity was putting pressure on the lungs and heart. If he kept bleeding at this rate, the only question would be whether he died of blood loss or suffocation due to collapsed lungs. Either way, he'd never even make it to the hospital. Mark knew he had to find some way to slow the bleeding. Had the artery been located in a limb, he could have used a tourniquet to cut off circulation to the area; but he couldn't put a tourniquet on Steve's chest. His mind raced frantically – he refused to contemplate the possibility of watching helplessly as his son bled to death before his eyes. A cold, hard calm, born of desperation, descended on him, and he started issuing orders.

"Amanda, get the medical kit in my trunk," he commanded. As she ran to do as he said, Mark looked over at Cheryl, who had come to stand in appalled silence, watching as he ministered to her partner. "Cheryl, go in the kitchen and get me some clean towels." He looked back down at Steve, one hand firmly pinching the damaged artery, trying to stem the flow of blood. Steve looked up at him and struggled to talk. He was still feeling fuzzy from the drug, there was piercing pain radiating from his side, and he had to fight for every breath against the increasing pressure in his chest.

"Drugged," he uttered, his voice weak and slurred. "She drugged me…"

"Don't talk, son," Mark told him. "You need to stay quiet." He reflected that the fact that Steve had been drugged was a distinct advantage at this point. It would make what he had to do a little easier. Cheryl reappeared with the towels, and under his direction, used one to swab up some of the blood that was covering Steve's chest. As she did so, Amanda returned with the medical bag. Mark turned to her.

"Give me the suture kit," he ordered.

"Mark, you can't use regular sutures to repair an artery!" Amanda protested, even as she pulled out the kit as he had requested.

"I know," was the grim reply. "But I can use the suturing thread to try to tie off the artery."

Amanda looked at the grim determination in her friend's face and swallowed any further protests. She knew as well as Mark did that if they didn't stop that bleeding, Steve didn't stand a chance. She also knew that he realized perfectly well that he was talking about performing what amounted to minor surgery on an unanesthesized, conscious patient who also happened to be his son. She handed him the suturing materials he needed.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked.

"I want you to hold the wound open so I can get to the artery," Mark replied. "Cheryl, I want you to hold Steve down if necessary. The fact that he's obviously been sedated should help, but this is going to hurt." Mark's face and voice were devoid of any expression other than that cold determination. The situation was too desperate to allow emotions to affect him now. He knew what he had to do, and he knew the pain he was going to have to inflict to do it. But there was no other choice if Steve were going to survive. And he was not going to lose his son without doing everything humanly possible to save him, whatever it took and whomever it hurt – including both Steve and himself. He looked down at his son.

"Steve." Steve opened his eyes. "I'm going to try to stop the bleeding." Throwing up every emotional block he could summon from over 40 years of practicing medicine, Mark kept his voice perfectly level. "I'm afraid this is going to hurt, but I need you to keep as still as you can." Steve looked at his father, recognizing even through the pain- and drug-induced haze that matters were obviously serious. He nodded wordlessly and tried to brace himself for what was to come.

Even with the sedation and the warning, Steve's body jerked involuntarily as Mark started work. Cheryl kept a tight grip on her partner, pinning him as well as she could, grateful for the sedation and weakness that sapped his usual strength, allowing her to hold him immobile. Amanda kept her eyes glued to Mark's hands throughout the procedure, unwilling to see the pain in Steve's face; wondering at the steadiness of those hands as they worked. Not once did Mark falter, even when Steve emitted a groan that caused tears to spring to Amanda's eyes. Mark worked swiftly, knowing that the kindest thing he could do at this point was to get the torture over as quickly as possible; but to Amanda it seemed like an eternity before it ended. When he had finished tying off the artery, he had to insert a chest tube to drain the blood to relieve some of the pressure on the heart and lungs. The whole procedure took only a few minutes, but by the time it was all over, Steve lay unconscious, drenched in sweat, his face as bloodless as his chest was bloody; and Amanda's face was streaked with tears. She looked up at Mark, and saw that he still wore the expression of cold remoteness that he had maintained throughout the procedure, but he was almost as white as Steve. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it had cost him to do that to the son he loved, and she knew there would be a high price to pay later for this rigid suppression of emotion. She prayed desperately that it hadn't all been in vain, that they would succeed in saving Steve.

The arrival of the paramedics set off a new flurry of activity. Mark helped them set up an IV and put anti-shock trousers on Steve's legs, and supervised the loading of his son into the ambulance. Once in the ambulance, he used his cell phone to contact Jesse at the hospital, wanting to be sure that everything would be set up and ready when they arrived so that not a moment would be lost. Every minute counted now; tying off the artery had not stopped the bleeding, only slowed it, and he wasn't even sure how long the temporary fix would hold. He explained the situation to Jesse, giving him the details of Steve's condition, telling him to pull Steve's records to have enough blood of the proper type ready and to have an OR and surgical team set to go as soon as they arrived.

Everything was in place when they arrived at the hospital; Jesse was waiting for them at the ER, everything set up the way Mark had instructed. They transferred Steve to a hospital gurney and whisked him off to the waiting OR. Only after they had wheeled Steve out of sight did Mark allow himself to let go of that cold shell of single-minded determination that had enabled him to get them this far. He stood in the hallway, staring after the gurney, suddenly wondering if that was the last sight he would have of his son alive. The wall of detachment he had so determinedly maintained crumbled, allowing the rigidly suppressed anguish and grief to wash over him. He leaned against the wall, fighting the waves of nausea and weakness that were the physical reaction to the emotional and physical stress of the crisis. Suddenly, all he could think of was the pain he had just inflicted on Steve and the possibility that that might have been his last interaction with his son. To lose his son was agony; to have had no farewells, no exchange of affection, no chance to comfort – to know, instead, that the last experience Steve had had of his father was the infliction of further pain and suffering – was almost unendurable. 

Amanda entered the ER, having followed the ambulance to the hospital, and saw Mark propped up against the wall, eyes closed, face gray and lined. Her heart ached for her friend, knowing that the grief and reaction were hitting him as hard as she had expected. She went up and wrapped her arms around him, gently pulling him away from the wall.

"Come on, Mark," she said gently. "Let's go somewhere quiet and sit down."

Mark opened his eyes and looked at her, grateful for the warmth and affection and concern she radiated. Dazedly, still feeling sick and shaken, he allowed her to lead him to an unoccupied lounge and sank onto the couch she steered him to. Amanda sat close to him, feeling the slight trembling that shook him, the cold of his hands – hoping to provide some physical, as well as emotional, warmth to her friend. She took his hands in hers.

"It's going to be okay, Mark," she said softly. The eyes that gazed back at her were drenched with pain. Mark shook his head slightly, more in grief than in denial.

"I didn't want to hurt him," he said, talking as much to himself as to her, "but I had to do something … I couldn't …" his voice choked up.

"Mark, you did what had to be done," Amanda assured him, her voice gentle but filled with conviction. "You know that. If you hadn't done what you did, Steve would have bled to death before he ever reached the hospital."

"He may still die," Mark said drearily. "And the last thing I'll ever have done for him was to hurt him…"

"What you did was give him a chance to live," Amanda insisted. "If you hadn't slowed that bleeding, he wouldn't have had any chance at all." She looked him straight in the eyes, trying to get through to him past the sea of grief and anguish that she knew were the inevitable backlash from the total emotional block that had carried him through the crisis. "You think Steve doesn't know that? You think he doesn't know how you feel about him? Doesn't know that you suffered with him through every step of that procedure?" She saw Mark's eyes fill with tears that he tried to blink away, and she pulled him into a hug. "He knows, Mark," she murmured reassuringly over his shoulder as she felt him cling to her. "Whatever happens, he knows."


	7. Part VII

Chapter 13 

Amanda sat with Mark as they waited, as it seemed they had so many times before, for Jesse to return with word on Steve's condition. She brought the older physician a cup of coffee and made him drink it, knowing that the hot beverage would help to warm him, counteracting the coldness of the shock he was experiencing. She wished she could get him to eat as well, but accepted his protest that he wouldn't be able to get anything down. At least a liquid would flow more easily past the tightness in his throat.

Cheryl came by to see if there was any word on Steve, and to update them on the situation with Terri. Knowing that Mark had been too concerned with tending to Steve to have noticed – or cared – about anything else, she gave them a brief synopsis of events. She told them how Terri had, at first, struggled madly, carrying on about how she had to stop Steve from 'finding out about us', how she had to 'protect us' from the 'wickedness' of men. On being overpowered, however, Terri had suddenly collapsed, coming around a moment later, apparently totally confused and unaware of what had occurred. They had arrested her and taken her to a secure psychiatric unit for evaluation.

Mark listened to the tale, trying to concentrate on it, grateful for the mental distraction that allowed him to focus on something other than Steve's uncertain condition. He considered the implications of Terri's reaction.

"It sounds like Terri might have a Multiple Personality Disorder," he suggested thoughtfully. "You might want to talk to her friend Karen and find out what hospital she was in and what she was treated for."

"A split personality?" asked Cheryl, somewhat skeptically. "She claimed not to have any idea of what she did – wouldn't she know what her other personality did?"

"Not necessarily," Mark replied. "It's not uncommon for the separate personalities to have no knowledge of each other. It can also happen that one of the personalities is aware of the other, but not vice versa, especially in cases where the one personality was formed as a defense mechanism against something." 

"In this case, the alternate personality apparently thought she was defending Terri," commented Amanda.

Mark nodded. "But it's possible that Terri was unaware of the alternate personality or what she was doing." A shadow crossed his face, as he remembered just what that alternate personality had done to his son. The same thought occurred to Amanda and Cheryl, who exchanged glances. Amanda placed a hand on Mark's shoulder and gave a slight squeeze. 

"I'll get hold of this Karen and see what she can tell me," said Cheryl. She looked down at Mark and over at Amanda. "Let me know as soon as you get word here," she said. Amanda nodded, and Cheryl left.

Mark relapsed into silence after Cheryl was gone. He was grateful for Amanda's presence and support, and even more grateful that there was no need to pretend or make conversation with her. He thought of some of the times in the past when he had sat waiting to see if his son would survive, wondering how many more times he could take this. _As many times as I have to_, he answered himself with sudden, fierce determination. _I'd rather sit here, wondering, a dozen times than ever sit through his funeral, knowing he's gone._ The thought sent a shudder through him. _Please, God, I don't ever want to sit through his funeral!_ He closed his eyes for a moment, for once feeling every one of his almost 70 years. He heard the door to the lounge open, and looked up to see Jesse entering. Instantly alert, he froze, almost afraid to breathe, his eyes riveted to the young doctor's face as he came across the room to perch on the arm of the couch next to Mark.

"He's going to be all right, Mark," Jesse said, going straight to the point, placing a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. "His blood pressure's still low and we'll have to watch out for infection; we'll be keeping a close eye on him tonight, but it looks like he's going to be fine."

Mark felt tears spring to his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, as Amanda turned and enveloped him in a relieved hug. He hugged her back, blinking away the tears he always hated to shed. Amanda had no such inhibitions, and she raised an unashamedly wet face as she leaned over to hug Jesse as well. Mark reached up wordlessly to squeeze Jesse's arm, still too emotional for speech. Jesse smiled back at him.

"By the way," Jesse said lightly, trying to cut through the heavily emotional atmosphere, "I thought you'd like to know that your handiwork was still holding up when we got Steve to the OR." Seeing Mark look up at him questioningly, he added seriously, "You know, Mark, that bit of inspiration is what saved Steve's life. If he'd lost any more blood than he did, we would never have been able to save him."

Amanda gave Mark's arm another gentle squeeze, and looked at him as if to say "See, I told you!" Mark gave her a slight, weary smile in return. The release of the extreme tension and anxiety that had filled him for the last several hours was leaving him drained and exhausted. But overriding the fatigue was the compelling need to see his son.

"Where is he, Jess?" Mark asked. "I want to see him."

"He's still in recovery," Jesse replied. "He'll be there a while longer." 

Mark nodded and got up, heading for the door. Before leaving the lounge, however, he looked back at his friends. "Thank you," he said simply. They smiled back at him in perfect understanding, and Mark turned and left to find his son.

Chapter 14 

Mark entered the cubicle in Recovery where Steve lay. He moved to the side of the gurney, automatically checking the monitors, and stood looking down at his son. Still suffering from the emotional vulnerability engendered by the crisis, he permitted himself the indulgence of stroking his son's hair, finding comfort in the physical contact and the reassuring warmth of Steve's body. He sat down on the chair to wait for Steve to wake up. 

It was a while before Steve started to stir. Mark heard a low groan, and saw his son's head moving restlessly, as if seeking a comfortable position. He leaned over to gently smooth the hair away from Steve's face.

"Steve," he said softly. He watched as Steve came slowly back to consciousness, opening his eyes to gaze around in obvious confusion, disoriented from the effects of the anesthesia. "You're in the hospital, son," Mark told him, trying to reorient and reassure him. "You're going to be fine." He saw Steve blink and focus on him.

"Dad?"

Mark smiled at him, gently patting his shoulder. "How do you feel?"

"Fuzzy," Steve replied, swallowing with difficulty, trying to moisten his dry mouth.

Mark looked around and took the pitcher of ice chips, pouring a few into a cup. "Here," he said, lifting his son's head slightly and putting the cup to his mouth. He slid a small spoonful of the ice into Steve's mouth, and watched as Steve sucked thirstily at the wetness. "Better?" he asked. 

Steve nodded weakly. "Thanks."

Mark smiled slightly at him in reply, and tucked the blanket a bit more closely around his son, checking to make sure he was warm enough. With the dark memory of the pain he had had to inflict during their last encounter still fresh in his mind, he was finding it soothing to provide some comfort and reassurance to his son now. 

Steve lay back on the gurney, trying to remember what had happened to land him in the hospital once again. He remembered being at Terri's house, and vaguely remembered realizing that his tea had been drugged, and the figure coming after him with the knife…

"Did Terri stab me?" he asked.

Mark nodded. 

"She was different somehow," Steve said, trying to make sense out of the confused jumble of impressions he retained.

"She seems to have an alternate personality," Mark explained. "It was Terri's body, but a different person." He looked down at his son, seeing him struggle to follow this. "Just relax now, Steve," he said soothingly. "We'll go over it all in the morning. Everything's all right – it's all over. You just rest."

Steve gazed up at him for a moment longer, then sighed and closed his eyes, surrendering to the drowsiness that still engulfed him. 

Mark stayed by his son until they brought him up to a regular room, and then settled down to spend the night there. Jesse and Amanda tried to talk him into going home, urging that he was in dire need of sleep himself after the traumatic events of the evening. But Mark was adamant about staying. He knew that it was still important to monitor Steve's condition closely for the next 12 to 24 hours, and although he would be the first to admit that the staff at Community General were extremely competent and dedicated, he needed to be there himself. 

Recognizing that Mark was still feeling the aftereffects of the emotional trauma he had experienced, Amanda pulled Jesse aside and told him that it would probably be better to stop trying to convince him otherwise and just support him any way they could. So they arranged to have a cot placed in Steve's room so Mark wouldn't spend the night sitting in the usual visitor's chair, brought him some coffee, and tried to see that he had everything he needed.

Mark was again grateful for his friends' support and understanding. He knew that he was being illogical about all this. He knew that he should be feeling relieved and happy that his son was going to be okay. But the emotional maelstrom he had been through had left him feeling depressed, with a nagging sense of guilt at having had to hurt his son, even at not having gotten to the house a minute or two earlier so they could have prevented the stabbing altogether. He knew this was unreasonable. He knew he had saved his son's life; he knew that there had been no other way; he knew that he would do it again if he had to – although he prayed fervently that he'd never have to do anything like that ever again; he even knew that Steve would certainly not blame him for what he had had to do. He knew all that – with his head. But there was a limit to even his resilience, and he was still suffering from emotional shock. So Mark sat through the night with Steve, finding reassurance in the steady beeping of the heart monitor and his son's even breathing.

Chapter 15 

The next morning, Steve was awakened by the arrival of the lab tech to draw his blood. He lay there, watching her as she finished, giving himself time to become reoriented to where he was and what had happened. As the tech left, he glanced around the room, and saw his father dozing in the chair beside the bed. He looked at him carefully, noticing that Mark was still wearing the clothes he had worn the day before and that there were lines of fatigue deeply etched in his face. 

As if aware of Steve's scrutiny, Mark shifted in the chair and opened his eyes. Seeing Steve watching him, he sat up and tried to slough off the sleep-induced grogginess.

"You look terrible," Steve told him.

Mark blinked at him in surprise, and then smiled slightly. "You've looked better yourself," he retorted. "How do you feel?"

"Hungry," Steve answered.

Mark's smile brightened. "Well, that's a good sign," he said. "I'll have to see what we can rustle up for breakfast." He stretched, easing the stiffness in his back and neck brought on by his nap in the chair. 

"Did you spend all night in that chair?" Steve asked, frowning. 

"No, I spent the night on the cot," Mark assured him, pulling back the curtain that was drawn part way around the bed, exposing the cot that Jesse had had set up. "I just dozed off again in the chair while I was waiting for you to wake up." 

Steve was only partially reassured, contemplating the implications of his father having spent the night there at all and Mark's still somewhat haggard appearance. His impressions of the previous night were still pretty vague – the result, no doubt, of being drugged, he thought – but he did remember the grimness of Mark's face, and the pain of whatever his father had done to treat him. On the other hand, although he was extremely weak, he didn't feel like he was in critical condition – he wasn't in the ICU, and his father certainly didn't seem to be as tense and concerned as he normally was when things were that serious. He looked up at Mark questioningly.

"So what's the prognosis?" he asked.

Mark looked down at him, an eyebrow hiked in surprise as he realized that Steve was interpreting his continued presence through the night as a sign that his condition was serious.

"You're going to be fine," he assured his son. "We needed to keep a close eye on you for the first 12 hours or so to make sure everything went well and your blood pressure came back up, and we'll have to keep a watch out to make sure no infection takes hold – although we've started you on a broad-spectrum antibiotic to be safe. But everything looks good." 

Steve observed his father closely during this speech, and relaxed a bit. Mark's voice carried conviction, and he met his son's gaze openly. 

Their conversation was interrupted at this point by Jesse's arrival. He greeted his patient cheerfully, checking the chart and conferring with Mark. He had barely finished examining Steve when Amanda showed up bearing flowers, followed shortly by the breakfast tray. They sat around while Steve ate, each feeling the relief of knowing that Steve was still with them, taking comfort in the gathering of their familiar foursome. Steve took the opportunity to get the details on what had happened at Terri's house, and they brought him up to date on what Cheryl had told them.

"How did you figure out it was Terri?" Steve asked. 

It was Jesse who related the mental trail they had followed, playing up his role in once again providing a clue that triggered the connection in Mark's mind between the prickers near Pete's apartment and the scratch on Terri's arm. He briefly traced their reasoning and the alarm they had felt when Mark was unable to reach Steve by phone.

"It was a good thing for me that you got there when you did," observed Steve. 

"Yeah, if Mark hadn't managed to slow that bleeding, you would never have made it," Jesse replied somberly.

Mark, who had been unwontedly reserved during Jesse's tale, turned to the windowsill beside him, busying himself in adjusting the flower arrangement on it. Steve saw Amanda cast a concerned glance at his father and a warning look at Jesse. He sent a questioning glance toward her, but she avoided his eyes.

"Well, it looks like you're coming along fine now," said Jesse, trying to smooth over the moment. "By this afternoon we'll have to get you on your feet for a while and get you moving."

"In the meantime, we'd better let you get your rest," added Amanda, rising. She looked over at Mark. "You should go home and rest for a while, too, Mark," she suggested. 

Mark turned back to face them, his face composed again. "I'm fine," he said. "But I'll probably run home in a bit to shower and change." 

After Jesse and Amanda left the room, Mark looked over at his son to find Steve watching him. 

"What's wrong, Dad?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing," Mark replied. "I'm fine – and, more importantly, you're going to be fine."

Steve shook his head, not accepting this. "Come on, Dad, I can tell when there's something you're not telling me. You were awfully quiet during that whole discussion."

Mark gazed back at him, recognizing that Steve wasn't going to let him off the hook. Accepting the inevitable, he gave a small, deprecating shrug.

"I just don't really like thinking about what I had to do to you," he said. His voice was carefully unemotional, but the eyes that met his son's held an unspoken apology.

It took Steve a moment to realize what his father meant. He remembered the pain of the procedure Mark had performed, but he had never questioned for a moment that it was necessary, and, now that it was over, was simply grateful that his father had been there to do what needed to be done. He mentally kicked himself for failing to think about how difficult it must have been for his father.

"Dad, you saved my life," he said, holding his father's gaze. "I think that was worth a few minutes of pain."

Mark nodded, recognizing that Steve was trying to tell him that he understood, that it was okay. But now that they had broached the subject, he found he wanted to be sure that his son understood how much he had wanted to find a less painful way. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Steve, memory darkening his eyes. "I couldn't think of any other way to slow the bleeding," he said, his voice holding a faint echo of the anguish he had felt. 

"Dad, I know you did everything you could," Steve responded promptly, placing a reassuring hand on his father's arm. "I know you didn't want to hurt me – you did what you had to to save me. I know it can't have been easy for you."

Mark looked away again. "I think it was the hardest thing I've ever done," he said quietly.

Steve was silent for a moment, searching for an adequate response to that. There really didn't seem to be one. He tightened his grip on his father's arm.

"Dad…" Mark looked back at him. "Thanks," Steve said simply.

Mark held his son's gaze for a moment, reading all the love, gratitude, and reassurance that Steve wanted to project. He felt himself relax, a good deal of the emotional tension that had gripped him dissipating, as if he had received a sudden absolution. He let out a deep breath, smiling slightly. 

"You're welcome." The affection in his eyes was reflected in his son's, as Mark briefly patted the hand that still rested on his arm. "Now I think it's time I let you get some more rest before Jesse comes back to make you wander the hallways," he said, with a return to lightness.

Steve grinned in response. "I tell you what," he suggested. "How about you go home and get some rest yourself, and when you come back you can bring me something to wear. I refuse to wander around the hallways in one of these hospital gowns!"


	8. Epilogue

Epilogue 

Several days later, Mark, Jesse, and Amanda were gathered around the table on the beach house deck, with Steve comfortably ensconced on the chaise lounge, a light blanket tucked around him. It was his first day home from the hospital, and the gang was sharing a celebratory meal. Cheryl had been by earlier to tie up the loose ends surrounding the case, including the fact that they had finally located Tommy Callander, and the four friends were discussing the information she had brought.

"So Callander never had anything to do with this at all," mused Mark.

Steve nodded. "Apparently he was involved in attacking another girlfriend. When he recognized me as a cop, he was afraid she had pressed charges and I was there to arrest him. Another conviction for that would have resulted in a long stint in prison."

"I still can't get over the fact that Terri killed Pete just because they were getting close," said Jesse.

"Well, it wasn't exactly Terri who killed him," Mark said. "Her alternate is truly like a completely different person. As frequently happens with multiple personalities, Terri was completely unaware of the alternate's existence and what she was doing. And the alternate seems to have absorbed the attitude that Terri's father tried to instill – that all men were 'evil' and out to hurt her. She thought she was 'protecting' Terri."

"How does something like that happen?" asked Steve.

"Well, it's hard to say, of course," Mark replied. "But there's often some background of abuse in these cases. From what I found out talking to the psychiatrist who had treated Terri before she moved out here, her father was a pretty disturbed person himself."

They continued to talk about the case a little longer, then the conversation passed on to more pleasant things. After a while, Mark noticed that Steve was leaning back against the chaise lounge, looking pensive.

"Tired, son?" Mark asked.

"Not really." Steve looked up at his father soberly. "I was just thinking about some of the things you told us about Terri's father and some of the things she said. It must have been hell growing up with a father like that."

Mark reflected with affection that it was like Steve to be able to look beyond the attack on himself to try to understand the horrors that had warped someone who might otherwise have been a normal person.

"We can make sure she gets the help she needs now," Mark assured him. "Apparently she never finished her treatment with the psychiatrist she was seeing before. We'll make sure she gets assigned someone she can relate to better – that should make the treatment more effective."

Steve nodded, remembering Terri's complaints about the doctors she had known. "You know, she told me that she hated doctors – hated having a doctor for a father, hated that he was so judgmental and had such rigid expectations for her." 

There was a momentary silence, then Jesse piped up: "I'll bet you're glad your dad's not like that!"

Steve grinned back at him, the somber mood broken. "It's kind of hard to think of Dad and 'rigid' in the same sentence," he admitted, casting an affectionate glance at his father.

They all shared a laugh, and spent a few more minutes in light conversation. Then Amanda and Jesse decided it was time to leave, observing that Steve shouldn't overdo it on his first day back. He laughed and protested, but they said their farewells, promising to see him again the next day. 

Father and son were left alone together, and Steve went to stand beside Mark at the rail, looking out across the beach.

"You should go in and rest, Steve," Mark told him.

"I will, Dad," Steve assured him. "I just want to soak up the view for a few minutes."

Mark nodded and turned back to look out over the pleasant, peaceful scene. They stood there quietly for a while, content with the moment and each other's company. 

"You know, Jesse was right about one thing," Steve said eventually, turning to his father with the glimmer of an affectionate smile in his eyes. Mark looked at him questioningly. "I am glad you're my dad."

Mark gazed back at him with a sudden rush of affection and a deep sense of gratitude for the continued presence of his son.

"Me too, son," he replied. "Me too." 

THE END

Okay, folks, this was a bit different for me – hope you liked it! As always, feedback is **deeply** appreciated. Many thanks to those of you who have been providing feedback all along! You kept me going through the rough spots, and I hope you enjoyed it to the end! -- Nonny 


End file.
